codependent

ARGH.

My computer should be ready on Wednesday- as in tomorrow. Ten bucks says I get it back on Friday morning.

Blogging will return to regularly-scheduled programming shortly. In the meantime, I will return to watching What not to Wear (my new computer-less regularly scheduled programming).

Cheers!

Guys Night Out

Last night, I went out with the guys. Got a late invitation, but managed to head out to the neighborhood bar to hang out with Chuy and his friends. Three boys and me. None of which were dating-material worthy, but regardless, it was still fun.

There was boy talk. I knew it happened, but I couldn’t believe it was real. I was included on “She is hot” conversations, crude-gesture jokes (I laughed along modestly) and…drum roll, please… “Single is hard/It is hard to meet girls” convos.

I was floored and could not stop laughing at how ridiculous these boys sounded. We talked about how I could walk up to any guy here and strike up a conversation, but they would shot down by at least half the girls in the bar. I am not sure if that is entirely true, but it is an interesting way to look at things.

It seems like every time I go out, I am perplexed with “Why won’t they come talk to me?”

Frankly, I don’t get it.

But I know I am more confident because of it. Suddenly, boys don’t seem so scary.

Making it public

I do, I do…miss you!

The Hoff is leaving up ambiguously romantic facebook statuses, and I can only pray they are not directed at me. His odd wording leaves me wishing I had a decoder ring of some sort. I should have kept more of those cereal box prizes (How cool was the color-changing spoon from the box cinnamon toast crunch?)

If the balls to tell him we should just be friends came in a box of Coco Puffs, I’d be set.

Matters

There is a pub crawl tomorrow.
There will be drinking.
The theme is white trash.
My Kickball friends will be there.
Bear will be there.

I wouldn’t write about it if it didn’t matter.
Tomorrow, I need to pretend like it doesn’t matter.
——————————————–

Heidi, Bear, and Katie just left my house. They crashed here last night after our drunken pub crawl. Then I projectile vomited Mexican food in my own bathroom and threw away my pjs.

Not to be outdone, BEAR HOOKED UP WITH A GIRL ON MY COUCH. Uh, there is one way to piss me off. My couch. My apartment. My home.

Brutal. Fucking brutal.

Drunk me

Pretty drunk

Timing’s a bitch

Bear called today.

Chicken Scratch

I love boy’s handwriting. It is so funny and almost all the same. So hurried with the added conciousness that they are writing something important so they should at least slow down a little. It is angly and tilted, so ugly and cute all at the same time. Love it.

computer boarding school

I am turning my computer over to a glorious computer fixer this afternoon. The screen is cracked and while I would like to think I could carry on using the remaining two thirds, my bonus is begging to be squandered on something as unsatisfying as this.

I’m pretty sure I will detox painfully over the next week and a half. Please keep me in your thoughts as you peruse your feed readers and try to understand my agony. The only good news that is coming out of this whole ordeal is that I think I can effectively ignore all my work with a valid excuse.

See you all on fully-functional pixels next week.

Simple life

I was watching a guy talk on the phone, while he stood at an intersection, waiting for the little green man to beckon him to the other side.

He looked happy. Like he was talking to someone on the other end that cared. Someone whose words made him rock on his toes, smile, and laugh, all within the same moment.

And, I thought to myself, “Man, that looks easy.”

And then I wondered, “Why?”

I answered with another question. Why do I envy his “easy?” when I constantly find myself consoling my insides with mumblings of “alone is easier” and “a lack of prospects equals peace.” I tell myself that drama-free silence accompanied by a simple life refuses to upset the delicate balance my life depends on.

Crazy is what happens when love interests get involved. The waiting for the phone calls, the fact that an entire day hinges on another’s actions. I constantly look for the signs that indicate that the stakes are too high, and all of the worry that comes from wondering if I will ever be me again, after this, floods my mind.

As I watched his carefree reactions on the street corner, I pinpointed my discontentment. It wasn’t that I want to be a pair, or don’t want to be single. Rather, I want to be distracted. I want to flit mindlessly away from money woes and job hunts. I want to laugh on the phone in a simple second of happiness, even if all it provided was a distraction.

Single forces me to look at myself. By default, all of the changes, self-improvement, and worrying are aimed back in my direction. Without the distraction that crazy fosters, I am left to face all of my problems that are so easily pushed aside otherwise. And frankly, it is tiring. They don’t go away and just stare back at me, as if to say “What now? No excuses.”

So what do I do in response? I wish to be crazy (and maybe in love.)

Tears for trying

I didn’t get it.
I was number two.
He said it was one of the most fun interviews they had. That the other candidate just had more experience.
I went for it. I showed up and gave my best. It just wasn’t my turn. I wanted it SO BAD.
I am so sad. I knew I’d be bummed and my mom keeps saying that things happen for a reason. She is right, but I can’t seem to see it clearly with these tears lining my eyes. Maybe someday.
My roomie, on the other hand, took a more practical approach and suggested we hire a hitman to track down candidate number one.
I’m down.